The Doctor Works on Christmas
by Kindred19
Summary: On Christmas Eve, a young girl encounters someone quite different from Santa in her living room. Simply put, this is the first person fictional account of the writer's encounter with the Doctor. A first attempt at first person fan fiction. Completely fictional, unfortunately. Therefore, I claim rights to nothing but my words. Enjoy, feel free to review, and look for more to come!
1. Chapter 1

I rolled over towards my phone.

2:33am.

I'm pretty sure that I hadn't slept at all in those three hours I had been in bed. And Blake still hadn't texted me back.

I flipped over onto my back. Lying there, with the moon shining through my window, I was vaguely reminded of all of those sleepless nights I had spent waiting for the morning when I would dash down the stairs to see the Christmas tree. The presents had always been secondary to the magic that was the glowing, colorful beacon of Christmas in our tiny living room. I remember lying awake in bed that night and pacing my breathing so that Santa wouldn't hear me awake and skip over our house. I was a strong believer. Back then.

But on this Christmas Eve, I lay awake waiting, not for a jolly old man with a beard to slide down my chimney, but for a boy who was less than a man to respond to my four word text.

_Merry Christmas, Blake! :)_

I knew it was stupid. Yet my mind insisted on keeping me awake so I could analyze and over-analyze every possible reason why he wasn't responding, and then, when that didn't yield any comprehensive results, to justify this life choice to myself. Yeah, he wasn't a great guy, certainly not the type that I would ever marry (or even date?), so why did it matter whether or not he even read my text? _Why am I doing this? _

_BUZZ._

I nearly toppled onto the floor in my attempt to snatch my phone of my bedside table. But it wasn't a text. It was simply vibrating. A call? I tried to answer it, but it continued ringing. And it continued, no matter what button I pressed. Weird.

_SNAP._

Now that was a very different sound, one which I was all too familiar with: the sound of my famous Christmas pinwheel cookies being snapped in half. From downstairs. Childhood nostalgia washed over me: the anticipation, the fear, the utter trepidation at the idea of hearing The Man at his work. Except this time, it wasn't. Nor was it my parents, who had been soundly asleep at 1:30 after their respective holiday duties. Also weird.

Then, suddenly, three things happened. My phone stopped buzzing. A large WHOOSH from the living room. And the yelp of a male voice.

I was in my sweatshirt and at the top of the stairs before I had realized what had happened. I think I was clutching my old field hockey stick, but I don't remember. My staircase wrapped around an corner to splay out into our living room. _Eyes on the steps. _Venturing down. I didn't want to see what it was anyway.

_VROOM. SQUEAK._

I looked up. I was bathed in the light of our tree, and so was a large, square telephone booth in the middle of our living room. I must have put my fist in my mouth to keep myself from shrieking, or else I was struck dumb in that moment. One of the two. As my eyes adjusted to the lighting of the room, I took in the box and a man, or half a man rather, protruding out of it into the room. Mechanical tinkering sounds came from inside the box. His converse-clad feet twitched playfully. And across the top of the box read, _"Police Call Box."_

"_Oh bother!" _

And that's when I did scream.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 – The Doctor Works on Christmas

In retrospect, I really shouldn't have screamed.

But in retrospect, the wall between fiction and non-fiction had just been shattered before my eyes. Lightly speaking.

Upon my scream, the man (the Doctor, he was the Doctor, can I say that, can I call him THE Doctor?), bumped his head on something in the box, I dropped my stick and he pulled himself out of the box so rapidly that he lost his balance and landed in some sprawling formation on the floor.

_Well, that was just really graceful._

"Woah! Hold on there," he said once he saw me. "It's allright!"

I'm going to be honest: I think that's what he said, but I'm not positive. I had stopped screaming at this point, but the sheer art of movement that was happening in front of me rendered me useless for anything by gaping. If that makes sense. So, I just sat down on the stairs which had issued me into this whole reality, if it was reality at all.

"Well, I guess that must have been sort of a shocker there. Don't want to go about waking your parents up, though." I swear there was a twinkle in his eyes as he sprung onto his feet here.

"But don't worry, I'm not an intruder in the sense of the word. Well, I mean, I did just pop up in your living space here, but that's the TARDIS' doing. I blame her. Decided to have a temper tantrum in the middle of flight, probably just because I haven't been giving her enough attention lately. Alway been a lil' drama queen like that. But anyway, hello, I'm the Doctor and I guess it would be appropriate to say 'Happy Christmas' right about now."

He was now standing directly in front of me, one hand in his trouser pocket and the other extending towards me. I took it, unable to control the shakiness that I knew was there. But I wasn't focused enough to care.

"Marie."

"Allright then, Marie."

"Is that a cookie in your pocket?"

He looked at his breast pocket, then at me, then pulled one of my pinwheels from its hiding place and handed it to me.

"Well, you're a sharp one."

I'm not going to pretend that that my heart didn't skip a beat.


End file.
